


The People Sing

by lastSaskatchewanPirate



Series: Metaphorical Coffee [11]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Abject Silliness, M/M, revolutionary catchphrases for $1000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 18:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12238347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastSaskatchewanPirate/pseuds/lastSaskatchewanPirate
Summary: Rodimus has a tendency to start things: fights.  Trouble.  Revolutions.





	The People Sing

**Author's Note:**

> This is just utterly silly. It may also become part of something else later on; until then, I'm just gonna leave it here.

Most people would assume that Office Max after closing was not exactly a hotbed of dissent or revolution.

Most of the time, they would be right, unless they were referring to the Office Max where Rodimus worked, in which case they would be dead wrong, as evidenced by the impromptu barricade that the polo-shirted proletariat had constructed from assorted floor model office chairs, three Post-It Notes displays, a hand cart, and forty-eight boxes of printer paper.

Drift had known Roddy long enough that the sight of said barricade and its attendant protesters – cheerfully brandishing an array of signage all clearly benefiting from unfettered access to a warehouse full of office supplies – failed to elicit a reaction. Megatron, on the other hand, was still relatively new to the tsunami of madness that tended to follow Rodimus throughout his daily life, and was furthermore possessed of a personal history likely to induce flashbacks when confronted with unexpected and brightly colored (someone had found the neon printer paper) protest signs, and therefore stopped dead upon seeing Rodimus standing proudly atop his barricade and waving an impressively large flag (someone had also found a roll of the thin Styrofoam wrap used for shipping furniture) while surrounded by polo-shirted college students singing a bastardized version of “La Marseillaise” featuring a wide range of soft drink names and vile profanity.

The tragic lack of a spirited breeze to dashingly ruffle his hair did not appear to be impeding Rodimus’s enthusiasm in the slightest.

Megatron stared, open-mouthed, in abject shock. Drift just smiled benignly at the flag-waving zealot precariously straddling a heap of ergonomic furniture.

“Vending machine broken again?”

“Yep!” Rodimus brandished the flag defiantly. “Power to the people!”

“Until victory, forever!” yelled an enthusiastic member of the polo proletariat.

“Give me Red Bull or give me death!” howled another, flailing his A4 foamcore sheet with revolutionary fervor.

“Revolution is not a dinner party,” Megatron growled, having recovered sufficiently from his initial shock to begin reasserting his usual sullen dominance. Rodimus winked at him. Megatron coughed into his fist in a vain effort to hide his grin.


End file.
